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PRELUDE PAGE 

The Song of a Heathen 6 

PART I 

A Christmas Hymn 7 

Noel 9 

The Birds of Bethlehem JO 

A Madonna of Fra Lippo Lippi it 

The Old Master 12 

The Christ-Child J3 

The Angfer of Christ 14 

Cost J6 

"There is Nothing New Under the Sun'' J 7 

Holy Land J9 

Easter 20 

** The Supper at Emmaus ^ 22 

Egypt and Syria 23 

PART II 

Two Worlds , ... 25 

The Word of the *White Tsar 26 

On a Portrait of Servetus 28 

"Despise Not Thou'' 29 

Credo 30 

The Passing of Christ .32 

The Doubter 35 

In Palestine 36 



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OCT n 1903 

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PRELUDE 



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THE SONG OF A HEATHEN 



SOJOURNING IN GALILEE, A. D. 32 



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F Jesus Qirist is a man, — 
And only a man, — I say 
That of all mankind I cleave to him, 
And to him will I cleave alway. 



II 



If Jesus Qirist is a God, — 

And the only God, — I swear 
I will follow him through heaven and hell, 

The earth, the sea, and the air ! 








PART I 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN 




ELL mCf what is this innumerable throng 
Singing in the heavens a loud, angelic song ? 
These are they <who come ivith s'lvift and 
shining feet 
From round about the throne of God the Lord of 
Light to greet* 

II 

Oh, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky, 
As if with joyful tidings that through the world shall 
fly? 
The faithful shepherds these, ivho greatly ivere 

afeared 
When, as they 'watched their flocks by night, the 
heavenly host appeared* 



Who are these that follow across the hills of night 
A star that westward hurries along the fields of light? 
Three %uise men from the East 'who myrrh and 

treasure bring 
To lay them at the feet of him their Lord and 
Christ and King* 






IV 

What babe new-bom is this that in a manger cries ? 
Near on her bed of pain his happy mother lies. 

OK see! the air is shaken zuith <white and hea- 
venly wings — 
TTiis is the Lord of alt the earthy this is the King 
of kings* 



Tell me, how may I join in this holy feast 
With all the kneeling world, and I of all the least ? 
Fear not, O faithful heart, but bring ivhat most 

is meet : 
Bring love alone, true love alone, and lay it at 
his feet. 






Star-dust and vaporous light, — 
The mist of worlds unborn, — 

A shuddering in the awful night 
Of winds that bring the mom. 



II 

Now comes the dawn : the circling earth ; 

Creatures that fly and crawl ; 
And Man, that last, imperial birth ; 

And Qirist, the flower of all* 



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THE BIRDS OF BETHLEHEM 



I heard the bells of Bethlehem ring — 

Their voice was sweeter than the priests* ; 

I heard the birds of Bethlehem sing 
Unbidden in the churchly feasts. 



II 



They clung and sung on the swinging chain 
High in the dim and incensed air ; 

The priests, with repetitions vain. 
Chanted a never-ending prayer. 



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III 

So bell and bird and priest I heard, 
But voice of bird was most to me ; 

It had no ritual, no word, 

And yet it sounded true and free. 

IV 

I thought Qiild Jesus, were he there. 
Would like the singing birds the best. 

And clutch his little hands in air 
And smile upon his mother^s breast. 



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A MADONNA OF FRA LIPPO LIPPI 



No heavenly maid we here behold, 
Though round her brow a ring of gold ; 
This baby, solemn-eyed and sweet, 
Is human all from head to feet. 

II 

Together close her palms are prest 
In worship of that godly guest ; 
But glad her heart and unafraid 
While on her neck his hand is laid. 

Ill 

Two children, happy, laughing, gay, 
Uphold the little child in play; 
Not flying angels these, what though 
Four wings from their four shoulders grow* 

IV 

Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee 
A lesson of humanity; 
To every mother^s heart forlorn. 
In every house the Christ is born. 



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Of his dear Lord he pictured all the life^ 
But not that ancient land, nor the old days ; 
Not curious he to seek, through learned strife, 
The look of those far times and unknown ways* 

But in his solemn and long-living art 

Well did he paint that which can never die : 
The life and passion of the human heart, 
Unchanged while sorrowing age on age goes by* 

Beneath his brush his own loved people grew. 
Their rivers and their mountains, saints and lords. 
The dark Italian mothers whom he knew. 

The sad-eyed nuns, the warriors with drawn swords; 
And the young Saviour, throned at Mary^s breast, 
Was but some little child whom he loved best. 



12 





THE CHRIST-CHILD 

A PICTURE BY FRANK VINCENT DU MOND 
I 

Done is the day of care. 

Into the shadowy room 

Flows the pure evening lights 

To stem the gathering gloom, 

The lily^s flame illume, 

And the bowed heads make bright — 

The heads bowed low in prayer. 

II 

See how the level rays 
Through the white garments pour 
Of the holy child, who stands, 
With bending brow, to implore 
Grace on the toilers^ store ; 
Oh, see those sinless hands ! 
Behold, the Qirist-child prays ! 

Ill 

Wait, wait, ye lingering rays, 
Stand still, O Earth and Sun, 
Draw near, thou Soul of God — 
This is the suffering one ! 
Already the way is begun 
The pierced Saviour trod ; 
And now the Qirist-child prays. 
The holy Christ-child prays. 
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THE ANGER OF CHRIST 



PALM SUNDAY 



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On the day that Qirist ascended 

To Jerusalem, 
Singing multitudes attended, 
And the very heavens were rended 

With the shout of them, 

II 

Qianted they a sacred ditty, 
Every heart elate ; 
But he wept in brooding pity. 
Then went in the holy city 

By the Golden Gate* 



In the temple, lo ! what lightning 

Makes unseemly rout 
He in anger, sudden, frightening. 
Drives with scorn and scourge the whitening 

Money-changers out. 








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IV 

By the way that Qirist descended 

From Mount Olivet, 
I, a lonely pilgrim, wended, 
On the day his entry splendid 
Is remembered yet* 



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And I thought : If he, returning 

On this festival, 
Here should haste with love and yearning, 
Where would now his fearful, burning 

Anger flash and fall ? 

VI 

In the very house they builded 

To his saving name, 
*Mid their altars, gemmed and gilded. 
Would his scourge and scorn be wielded, 

His fierce lightning flame. 

VII 

Once again, O Man of Wonder, 
Let thy voice be heard ! 

Speak as with a sound of thunder ; 

Drive the false thy roof from under ; 
Teach thy priests thy word. 



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Because Heaven^s cost is Hell, and perfect joy- 
Hurts as hurts sorrow; and because we win 
Some boon of grace with the dread cost of sin, 
Or suffering born of sin ; because the afloy 

Of blood but makes the bliss of victory brighter ; 
Because true worth hath surest proof herein, 
That it should be reproached, and called akin 
To evil things — black making white the whiter ; 

Because no cost seems great near this — that He 
Should pay the ransom wherewith we were 

priced ; 
And none could name a darker infamy 

Than that a God was spit upon, — enticed. 

By those He came to save, to the accursed tree, — 
For this I know that Christ indeed is Qirist. 



16 





There is nothing new under the sun ; 

There is no new hope or despair ; 
The agony just begun 

Is as old as the earth and the air. 
My secret soul of bliss 

Is one with the singing stars, 
And the ancient mountains miss 

No hurt that my being mars* 



II 

I know as I know my life, 

I know as I know my pain, 
That there is no lonely strife, 

That he is mad who would gain 
A separate balm for his woe, 

A single pity and cover ; 
The one great God I know 

Hears the same prayer over and over* 



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I know it because at the portal 

Of Heaven I bowed and cried^ 
And I said: *^Was ever a mortal 

Thus crowned and crucified ! 
My praise thou hast made my blame ; 

My best thou hast made my worst ; 
My good thou hast turned to shame ; 

My drink is a flaming thirst.** 

IV 

But scarce my prayer was said 

Ere from that place I turned ; 
I trembled, I hung my head, 

My cheek, shame-smitten, burned ; 
For there where I bowed down 

In my boastful agony, 
I thought of thy cross and crown — 

O Qirist ! I remembered thee. 









HOLY LAND 






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This is the earth he walked on ; not alone 
That Asian country keeps the sacred stain ; 
Ah^ not alone the far Judean plain^ 
Mountain and river ! Lo, the sun that shone 

On him, shines now on us ; when day is gone 
The moon of Galilee comes forth again 
And lights our path as his ; an endless chain 
Of years and sorrows makes the round world one* 

The air we breathe, he breathed — the very air 
That took the mold and music of his high 
And godlike speech. Since then shall mortal dare 

With base thought front the ever-sacred sky — 
Soil with foul deed the ground whereon he laid 
In holy death his pale, immortal head ! 



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When in the starry gloom 
They sought the Lord Qirist^s tomb, 
Two angels stood in sight 
AH dressed in burning white 
Who unto the women said : 
'Why seek ye the living among the dead ?*' 

II 

His life, his hope, his heart, 

With death they had no part ; 

For this those words of scorn 

First heard that holy morn. 

When the waiting angels said : 

'Why seek ye the living among the dead?'* 

O, ye of this latter day, 
Who journey the selfsame way — 
Through morning's twilight gloom 
Back to the shadowy tomb ; 
To you, as to them, was it said : 
'Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 



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IV 

The Lord is risen indeed, 
He is here for your love, for your need — 
Not in the grave, nor the sky. 
But here where men live and die ; 
And true the word that was said : 
"Why seek ye the living among the dead ?" 



Wherever arc tears and sighs. 
Wherever are children's eyes. 
Where man calls man his brother, 
And loves as himself another, 
Christ lives ! The angels said : 
*^ Why seek ye the living among the dead ?" 




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''THE SUPPER AT EMMAUS" 

A PICTURE BY REMBRANDT 

Wise Rembrandt! thou couldst painty and thou alone, 
Eyes that had seen what never human eyes 
Before had looked on ; him that late had passed 
Onward and back through gates of Death and Life* 

O human face where the celestial gleam 

Lingers ! Oh, still to thee the eyes of men 

Turn with deep, questioning worship ; seeing there. 

As in a mirror, the Eternal Light 

Caught from the shining of the central Soul 

Whence came all worlds, and whither shall return* 



22 






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EGYPT AND SYRIA 

EGYPT 

I thought, in Egypt, Death was more than Life, 
It seemed so vast ; its monuments so great ; 
The emptiness of tombs was such high state, — 
No living thought, or power, or potentate 
So glorious seemed, wrapt in such splendid gloom. 
For I perceived that in each ancient tomb. 
Long ages since, dead kings for Death made room. 
Not here the Dead, but Death : — alone, supreme: 
In Egypt Death was real, — Life a winged Dream* 






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SYRIA 

I thought, in Syria, Life was more than Death, 

A tomb there was forsaken of its dead. 

But death filled not the place; here with bowed head 

Worships the world forever at the tread 

Of one who lived, who liveth, and shall live, — 

Whose grave is but a footstep on the sod ; 

Men kiss the ground where living feet have trod. 

Here not to Death but Life, they worship give* 

August is Death, but this one tomb is rife 

With a more mighty presence ; it is Life. 




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PART II 
TWO WORLDS 

PAGAN-CHRISTIAN 

I 
THE VENUS OF MILO 

RACE, majesty, and the calm 
bliss of life ; 
No conscious war ^twixt 
human will and duty; 
Here breathes, forever free from pain 
and strife, 
The old, untroubled pagan world of 
beauty. 

II 

MICHAEL ANGELO'S SLAVE 

Of life, of death the mystery and woe. 
Witness in this mute, carven stone 
the whole. 
That suffering smile were never fash- 
ioned so 
Before the world had wakened to a 

soul. 

25 











.• ^ «. • 




THE WORD OF THE WHITE TSAR 



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A VISION OF CHRIST 

This day, a strange and beautiful word was spoken, — 
Not with the voice of a child, nor the voice of a woman, 
Nor yet with the voice of a poet, the melody sounded, — 
Forth from the lips of a warrior, girt for the battle, 
Breathed this word of words o^er a world astonished. 



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Prisoners returning from war, and conquering armies. 
Navies flushed with new and amazing victory, 
Heard the message, so strange, so high, so entrancing, 
And soldiers dying of wounds or the wasting of fever. 
In tropic islands it sounded, through wrecks of cities; 
O^er burning plains where warlike death was in 

waiting; 
Armies and navies confronting, in watchful silence. 
Heard it and wondered ; statesmen stopped their 

debates. 
And turning their eyes toward the voice, with its 

meaning unlooked for. 
Listened and smiled with the smile and the sneer of 

the cynic. 



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But the mothers of youths who had died of their 

wounds and of fever, 
And the poor crushed down by the price of the glory 

of battle 
And the weight of the wars that have been, and that 

yet are preparing, 
They from their burdens looked up and uttered their 

blessing : 
For Peace — the Peace of God — was the warrior's 



prayer 



And I, who heard, I saw in a waking vision 
An image familiar long to the hearts of mortals, — 
A face of trouble, a brow celestial, yet human, — 
In a dream of the day, I saw that suffering spirit, 
Him accustomed to labor, to anguish not alien. 
Still mourning for men alone in the valley of 

shadows; — 
I dreamed that he lifted that face of infinite sorrow. 
And barkened, — when lo! a light in those eyes of 

sadness 
Came sudden as day that breaks from the mountains 

of Moab. 



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Thou grim and haggard wanderer, who dost look 
With haunting eyes forth from the narrow page, 
I know what fires consumed with inward rage 
Thy broken frame, what tempests chilled and shook 

Ah, could not thy remorseless foeman brook 

Time's sure devourment, but must needs assuage 

His anger in thy blood, and blot the age 

With that dark crime which virtue's semblance took 

Servetus ! that which slew thee lives to-day. 
Though in new forms it taints our modern air ; 
Still in heaven's name the deeds of hell are done ; 

Still on the high-road, 'neath the noonday sun. 
The fires of hate are lit for them who dare 
Follow their Lord along the untrodden way. 



28 





DESPISE NOT THOU 

Despise not thou thy father's ancient creed, 
Of his pure life it was the golden thread 
Whereon bright days were gathered, bead by bead, 
Till death laid low that dear and reverend head. 

From olden faith how many a glorious deed 
Hath lit the world ; its blood-stained banner led 
The martyrs heavenward ; yea, it was the seed 
Of knowledge, whence our modern freedom spread 

Not always has man's credo proved a snare — 
But a deliverance, a sign, a flame 
To purify the dense and pestilent air, 

Writing on pitiless heavens one pitying name ; 
And 'neath the shadow of the dread eclipse 
It shines on dying eyes and pallid lips. 



29 










CREDO 



How easily my neighbor chants his creed, 

Kneeling beside me in the House of God^ 

His '' I believe '' he chants, and ** I believe/' 

With cheerful iteration and consent — 

Watching meantime the white, slow sunbeam move 

Across the aisle, or listening to the bird 

Whose free, wild song sounds through the open door* 

Thou God supreme, — I too, I too, believe ! 
But oh ! forgive if this one human word. 
Binding the deep and breathless thought of thee 
And my own conscience with an iron band, 
Stick in my throat* I cannot say it, thus — 
This ** I believe ** that doth thyself obscure ; 
This rod to smite ; this barrier ; this blot 
On thy most unimaginable face 
And soul of majesty* 

'T is not man's faith 
In thee that he proclaims in echoed phrase. 
But faith in man ; faith not in thine own Christ, 




But in another man^s dim thought of him* 

Christ of Judea, look thou in my heart ! 

Do I not love thee, look to thee, in thee 

Alone have faith of all the sons of men — 

Faith deepening with the weight and woe of years ? 

Pure soul and tendcrest of all that came 
Into this world of sorrow, hear my prayer : 

Lead me, yea, lead me deeper into life. 
This suffering, human life wherein thou liv'st 
And breathest still, and hold^st thy way divine. 
*T is here, O pitying Christ, where thee I seek, 
Here where the strife is fiercest; where the sun 
Beats down upon the highway thronged with men. 
And in the raging mart* Oh ! deeper lead 
My soul into the living world of souls 
Where thou dost move. 

But lead me, Man Divine, 
Wherever thou wiliest, only that I may find 
At the long journey^s end thy image there. 
And grow more like to it. For art not thou 
The human shadow of the infinite Love 
That made and fills the endless universe ! 
The very Word of him, the unseen, unknown 
Eternal Good that rules the summer flower 
And all the worlds that people starry space ! 









THE PASSING OF CHRIST 



O Man of light and lore ! 
Do you mean that in our day 
The Qirist hath passed away ; 
That nothing now is divine 
In the fierce rays that shine 
Through every cranny and thought ; 
That Christ as he once was taught 
Shall be the Christ no more ? 
That the Hope and Saviour of men 
Shall be seen no more again ; 
That, miracles being done, 
Gone is the Holy One ? 
And thus, you hold, this Christ 
For the past alone sufficed ; 
From the throne of the hearts of the world 
The Son of God shall be hurled, 
And henceforth must be sought 
New prophets and kings of thought ; 
That the tenderest, truest word 
The heart of sorrow hath heard 
Shall sound no more upon earth ; 
That he who hath made of birth 
A dread and holy rite ; 
Who hath brought to the eyes of death 
32 



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A vision of heavenly light. 

Shall fade with our failing faith; — 

He who saw in children's eyes 

Eternal paradise ; 

Who looked through shame and sin 

At the sanctity within ; 

Whose memory, since he died, 

The earth hath sanctified — 

Hath been the stay and the hold 

Of millions of lives untold, 

And the world on its upward path 

Hath led from crime and wrath ; — 

You say that this Christ hath passed 

And we cannot hold him fast ? 



II 

Ah no ! If the Christ you mean 
Shall pass from this time, this scene, 
These hearts, these lives of ours^ 
*T is but as the summer flowers 
Pass, but return again, 
To gladden a world of men. 
For he, — the only, the true, — 
In each age, in each waiting heart, 
Leaps into life anew ; 
Though he pass, he shall not depart. 
Behold him now where he comes ! 
Not the Christ of our subtile creeds. 
But the lord of our hearts, of our homes, 
Of our hopes, our prayers, our needs ; 
L.,r;. 33 



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The brother of want and blamc^ 
The lover of women and men, 
With a love that puts to shame 
All passions of mortal ken ; — 
Yet of all of woman born 
His is the scorn of scorn ; 
Before whose face do fly 
Lies, and the love of a lie ; 
Who from the temple of God, 
And the sacred place of laws, 
Drives forth, with smiting rod, 
The herds of ravening maws* 

nr is he, as none other can. 

Makes free the spirit of man. 

And speaks, in darkest night. 

One word of awful light 

That strikes through the dreadful pain 

Of life, a reason sane — 

That word divine which brought 

The universe from nought. 





I 



Thou Christ, my soul is hurt and bruised ! 

With words the scholars wear me out; 
My brain overwearied and confused,— 

Thee, and myself, and all I doubt. 



II 



And must I back to darkness go 
Because I cannot say their creed ? 

I know not what I think ; I know 
Only that thou art what I need. 



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IN PALESTINE 
I 

Ah no! that sacred land 
Where fell the wearied feet of the lone Christ 
Robs not the soul of faith. I shall set dov.Ti 
The thought was in my heart* If that hath lost 
Aught of its child-belief, 't was long ago, 
Not there in Palestine; and if 't were lost, 
He were a coward who should fear to lose 
A blind, hereditary, thoughtless faith, — 
Comfort of fearful minds, a straw to catch at 
On the deep-gulfed and tempest-driven sea. 




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Full well I know how shallow spirits lack 
The essence, flinging from them but the form: 
I have seen souls lead barren lives and cursed, — 
Bereft of light, and all the grace of life, — 
Because for them the inner truth was lost 
In the frail symbol — hated, shattered, spumed. 



But faith that lives forever is not bound 
To any outward semblance, any scheme 
Fine- wrought of human wonder, or self-love. 
Or the base fear of never-ending pain. 






True faith doth face the blackness of despair, — 
Blank faithlessness itself ; bravely it holds 
To duty unrewarded and unshared ; 
It loves where all is loveless ; it endures 
In the long passion of the soul for God* 

*T was thus I thought : — 
At last the very land whose breath he breathed, 
The very hills his bruised feet did climb ! 
This is his Olivet ; on this Mount he stood. 
As I do now, and with this same surprise 
Straight down into the startling blue he gazed 
Of the fair, turquoise mid-sea of the plain. 
That long, straight, misty, dream-like, violet wall 
Of Moab, — lo, how close it looms; the same 
Quick, human wonder struck his holy vision. 
About these feet the flowers he knew so well 
Back where the city's shadow slowly climbs 
There is a wood of olives gaunt and gray, 
And centuries old ; it holds the name it bore 
That night of agony and bloody sweat. 




I 



I tell you when I looked upon these fields 
And stony valleys, — through the purple veil 
Of twilight, or what time the Orient sun 
Made shining jewels of the barren rocks, — 
Something within me trembled ; for I said : 
This picture once was mirrored in his eyes ; 
This sky, that lake, those hills, this loveliness, 






37 





To him familiar were ; this is the way 

To Bethany ; the red anemones 

Along yon wandering path mark the steep road 

To green-embowered Jordan. All is his : 

These leprous outcasts pleading piteously ; 

This troubled country, — troubled then as now, 

And wild and bloody, — this is his own land. 

On such a day, girdled by these same hills. 

Pressed by this dark-browed, sullen, Orient crowd, 

On yonder mount, spotted with crimson blooms. 

He closed his eyes, in that dark tragedy 

Which mortal spirit never dared to sound. 

O God ! I saw those haunting eyes in every throng. 

II 

Were he divine, and maker of all worlds. 
The Godhead veiled in suffering, for our sins, — 
An unimagined splendor poured on earth 
In sacrifice supreme, — this were a scene 
Fit for the tears of angels and all men. 
If he were man, — a passionate human heart, 
Like unto ours, but with intenser fire. 
And whiter from the deep and central glow ; 
Who loved all men as never man before, 
Who felt as never mortal all the weight 
Of this world^s sorrow, and whose sinless hands 
Upstretched in prayer did seem, indeed, to clutch 
The hand divine ; if he were man, yet dreamed 
That the Ineffable through him had power — 





Even through his touch — to scatter human pain 
(Setting the eternal seal on his high hope 
And promised kingdom); were he only man, 
Thus, thus to aspire, and thus at last to fall I 
Such anguish ! such betrayal ! Who could paint 
That tragedy ! one human, piteous cry — 
** Forsaken I ^* — and black death ! If he were God, 
'T was for an instant only, his despair ; 
Or were he man, and there is life beyond. 
And, soon or late, the good rewarded are. 
Then, too, is recompense. 

But were he man. 
And death ends all ; then was that tortured death 
On Calvary a thing to make the pulse 
Of memory quail and stop. 

The blackest thought 
The human brain may harbor comes that way. 
Face that, — face all, — yet lose not hope nor heart ! 
One perfect moment in the life of love. 
One deed wherein the soul unselfed gleams forth, — 
These can outmatch all ill, all doubt, all fear. 
And through the encompassing burden of the world 
Burn swift the spirit^s pathway to its God. 



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